You need to be passionate about the creative work that you're doing, but you need to be kind of emotionally separated from how people react to it or how it does. Those things should be secondary, and primary should be your love of the creative act.

What do--" Tobias's voice. Tobias! "Oh my God. Oh--" "Spare me your blubbering, okay? Peter says. "She's not dead; she's just paralyzed. It'll only last for about a minute. Now get ready to run." I don't understand. How does Peter know? "Let me carry her," Tobias says. "No. You're a better shot than I am. Take my gun. I'll carry her.

I feel the urge, familiar now, to wrench myself from my body and speak directly into her mind. It is the same urge, I realize, that makes me want to kiss her every time I see her, because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating. Our fingers, loosely woven a moment ago, now clutch together, her palm tacky with moisture, mine rough in places where I have grabbed too many handles on too many moving trains. Now she looks pale and small, but her eyes make me think of wide-open skies that I have never actually seen, only dreamed of.

She must love me, to worry about me. She must still be capable of love.

Thank you for your honesty," Niles says. The Candor repeat the phrase under their breath. All around me are the words "Thank you for your honesty" at different volumes and pitches, and my anger begins to dissolve.

There is a reason you don’t know all the things I know. -Marcus Eaton

At first Eric stares at Four in silence. Four stares back.